In the dark. Again. By the column in the old bar, Sheila a stunning woman of indeterminate age, stands just far enough away not to be bothered by the bartender or his customers. Being the residual of her encounters, Sheila wants the babes in the woods, innocents, to bring back what she lost long, long ago. And here they are, the new ones, tantalizing appetizers: The wispy red head with sad eyes, a beautiful lean body. The confident salesman on the prowl here in the bar, his closer's smile a tad too bright. The hooked up couple whose touch, cool and calculating, belies hollow enthusiasm.
As she focuses her intensity on them, they become satellites in the sun of her subtle but undeniable attention. One by one they notice the odd warmth, turn instinctively to that beguiling something felt but unseen, in the dark of the bar. Little movements, a step here, an adjustment there, edging closer, unconsciously, to the platinum-haired Sheila who is still, quiescent by the column, radiant. She is the moon to the ocean. Drawn near, they smile and laugh and do whatever to preen, to show off, to be noticed, to be selected--please.
Sheila smiles. It is all she needs to do. Just smile to gather the kittens, scampering and the puppy dogs, tails wagging.
Come home to mama Sheila thinks. I'm so hungry. She waits here in this yuppie bar in the mining-turned-arty town of Bisbee, Arizona. She has been here in town a long, long time. Small and cliquey, the town hardly remembers her, the traces are faint and to be found in the most unlikely places. The county recorder's office, for example, lists Sheila as the owner of Bisbee's oldest, now defunct whorehouse. The deed is older than the oldest resident, save one--its owner.
There is a problem in this overt stalking, though. She doesn't want to draw the unwanted attention and the clear memories of the unselected. How could she last so long in one place otherwise? She must winnow, even cull, and then send the right one on an unobtrusive search. She eases the attraction and moves away to mollify her unsuspecting devotees. Now she focuses a single intention and draws on an unruly instinct to push it forth: An electric impulse from eye to eye like some strange invisible sigh.
Across the room, Julie feels an unmistakable tingle and wonders, why now? What is this sexual urge when all I'm doing is idly looking at that curious woman by the column, who has somehow slipped away.
There she is! Just like that stepping out the door. I was going to that place by the Copper Queen anyway...
One to go, a take out bakery for a pretty muffin, her skin the glaze of snowy white butter cream, delicious to lick, Sheila thinks as she stops by a railing to adjust her shoe so that the pretty redhead can catchup.
"These hilly streets are hard on heels," Julie says as she comes near the silvery shinny-haired woman. She is a little surprised at her boldness. Usually, she is shy around strangers.
"I know," Sheila says. "It was just vanity to wear them." Then she reaches out and steadies herself by touching Julie's shoulder.
Julie is electrified; she holds onto Sheila's arm like a drowning swimmer, her body sinking. Suddenly both are shuddering, a chill rushing through them. The chill turns hot, like stepping from a cold shower into a hot tub.
"Ow!" Julie shouts, "You shocked me. Talk about static!" And she leans against Sheila to keep from falling.
She is trembling and then laughing. "Yeah, we could light up this town! I hope I didn't scare you," Sheila says and pats Julie's arm timidly. (To herself, Sheila adds, Like you scared me--why did I react this way to one of the innocents?)
Julie surprises herself by saying, "We should drink to the newfound lights of Bisbee?" And hopes the woman doesn't notice her blushing.
"Yes, we should! I'm Sheila..." Instead of squeezing her arm or shaking her hand, she leans into Julie and kisses her cheek lightly.
Julie trembles and says, "Nice to meet you, my name is Julie," and cannot resist the impulse to brush her fingertips against Sheila's cheek lingering at her chin as though she too were ready to kiss her.
"That's different, Sheila. I'm usually shy. Here I am acting like a lezz. Sorry..."
"No worries," Sheila says, "let's make it a funny start for great friends!" (Why would I say that?--it will surely be a very short friendship. Do friends really eat their friends!)
They walk up the hill in the dark. Ahead three shadows silhouetted by a streetlight turn onto their street and walk towards them. Men.
Sheila notices Julie tense. "Don't worry too much about them," Sheila says, and takes Julie's hand.
"They might tease us--or worst," Julie replies, but squeezes Sheila's hand tighter.
"We could get lucky," Sheila murmurs.
"What do you to mean?" Julie asks.
"I could use the exercise."
"If you say so," Julie says, surprised now at her own sanguine attitude. In fact, she is more excited now than afraid. There seems something unassailable, even invincible about the two of them, together, electric ladies of the night. She says it aloud, "Electric ladies of the night."
"I know," Sheila says, "I heard you the first time."
Julie stops walking and looks at her new friend. "That's weird 'cause I didn't say it out loud the first time. But now I can hear you thinking, This is more complicated - like you had a plan for us that has changed."
"You know what else, Sheila, I can even tell that you are resisting this change because it so surprising for, your term, an innocent like me."
Meanwhile the shadows turn into noisy, rowdy men in slouch hats, a sometimes sinister affectation of the town's bad boys.
"Hellooo there ladies," one of them leers, his voice filled with false cheer, threatening. "You two want some company?" he adds predictably.
"Nope cowboy," Sheila says pleasantly.
"Just cause you like her pretty tits, don't mean we can't too!" he says, moving toward them.
Later, Julie can't remember what possessed her to shift sideways and arc her leg, tilting her foot at an angle so as to strike effortlessly and cleanly break his jaw. Sheila stares at her in amazement and thinks, I thought I was tough!
Julie doesn't miss a beat, "You are girlfriend," she replies out loud, "I'd be running away madly without you."
The man with the broken jaw is moaning, slumped on the street. One of his friends pulls a small-caliber gun and raises his hand to point it at the girls. There is a blur and Julie hears the unmistakable crack of bones breaking (like a big wishbone snapping she thinks and then hears Sheila in her mind say, I wish you hadn't seen that).
No matter, Julie replies silently, you are my hero.
The final man runs past them.
Julie turns around and hugs Sheila and smiles coyly, "What are super girl friends for."
"You scare me," Sheila says. "I could probably have talked them out of any problems, you know."
"I know it now but not before, I just guess I was defending your honor." Julie says, thoughtfully.
"My honor? I don't have any."
"Yes, yes you do. Even if you do suck their blood," Julie says and stops and stares at her friend. "Is that what you want to do to me--too?"
The men on the ground are still groaning. The man with the broken hand is crawling toward a board beside the road: The persistence of testosterone.
